


It Started at the Bar

by LadyWhiteKoiFish



Category: The Pianist (2002)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWhiteKoiFish/pseuds/LadyWhiteKoiFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wladyslaw Szpilman stumbles upon a lonely and drunken Wilm Hosenfeld one night, and recognizing him as the Nazi captain, who had once saved him from a group of Nazi soldiers, tries to get him home. Things don’t go quite as planned. SLASH!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Historical slash. Sort of.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing, just putting on paper what floats around my brain. I make no monetary profit from this work of FICITON. The only thing I get in return is perhaps a few nice words from my readers.

Szpilman was currently sneaking through the back alleys of the Warsaw Ghetto with a small bag of bread and cheese he had smuggled in. It seemed to be getting more and more dangerous every time he did this. Stealing food from the Nazis, that was. But they always had enough food to fill their bellies, while the Jews of Poland barely had enough to fill the belly of a rat.

 

Needing to cross the road, Szpilman peeked his head out and into one of the brighter lit streets when he noticed two SS soldiers walking his way. Ducking back into the alley as fast as he could, Szpilman started praying a silent prayer that they hadn’t seen him. But as it so happened they had seen him.

 

As he quickly turned around and started to retrace his previous steps the two SS soldiers stopped him. “Halt!” One of them yelled as they ran up to Szpilman. “Come here!”

 

Szpilman had no choice but to go over to the soldiers who had called him. Szpilman felt his fear turn his blood into ice water. He knew what was going to happen next. First, some verbal abuse, then physical, if not death, and then they’d take his food. At his last thought Szpilman could feel his stomach knot in hunger and pain. He hadn’t eaten in three days.

 

“I don’t want any trouble,” stated Szpilman, cautiously, as the soldiers drew closer, head bowed in submission. The two soldiers just laughed in his face, although Szpilman didn’t know what was so funny. Everything he had said had been true.

 

“Trouble?” Asked one soldier, sarcastically. “We are not the ones causing trouble. You Juden are.” The soldier viciously shoved Szpilman backwards until he hit the brick wall of the building behind him. These soldiers were implying that by just being a Jew that, Szpilman, was causing trouble.

 

“Please,” begged Szpilman, but it seemed his pleas fell on deaf ears. “I mean no harm.” Szpilman clutched the bag of bread and cheese close to his stomach as his back was pushed flush against the wall behind him, the arm across his chest as heavy and as strong as an iron bar. The soldier whose arm restrained Szpilman leaned his head close enough to Szpilman’s that Szpilman could feel his hot breath ghost over his ear. Szpilman was scared that the man would bite his ear clean off. In fact, Szpilman started to shake with fear.

 

Finally the soldier whispered, almost inaudibly, against Szpilman’s ear, “But I do.”

 

As the soldier pulled away, Szpilman saw a wicked and sinful grin spread wide across his face. Tears swelled up in Szpilman’s eyes. He could only imagine what horrors these two soldiers could do to him. And from the tales that had been told to him by other Jews who had been forced to do acts of such sexual heinous that death seemed like a nicer option.

 

Szpilman heard the two men laugh, maliciously, so he shut his eyes tightly and prayed that it would all be over quickly. He heard the shuffle of feet as the two soldiers began to move closer. Yes, he decided, this would be the end for him.

 

“Hey!” Yelled someone from behind the two soldiers, the person’s voice cutting through the night like the first rays of sunshine in the morning. “Leave him alone!”

 

Opening his eyes, Szpilman looked up to see who had saved him. His rescuer approached the three of them quickly. Noticing the symbols on the man’s coat, Szpilman concluded that his rescuer was a German Captain, and then wondered if he was in even more trouble.

 

A few words were spoken between the Nazi soldiers as Szpilman watched from the sidelines, hoping to go unnoticed. The German Captain finally waved off the two other soldiers and with one final salute they were gone, leaving Szpilman alone with the Captain.

 

“Are you alright?” Asked the Captain, kindly, as he turned to Szpilman.

 

“Ja Herr, Kapitän,” answered Szpilman, timidly. “Dankeschön.” Szpilman feared that now that he was the captive of a German Captain that his punishment would be far worse than what it would have been with just the two SS soldiers.

 

Noticing that Szpilman was shaking, the Captain, kindly, tried to sooth his fears away by reassuring him that he was not going to hurt him.

 

“I mean you no harm Jude,” stated the Captain as he walked up next to Szpilman and placed a gentle hand on his trembling shoulder. Szpilman flinched at the contact, but when he noticed that the Captain wasn’t going to strike him he settled back down; calm, but still tense and poised to flee at any moment.

 

“You know, a Jude, like you,” stated the Captain, “should not be out past curfew. It’s dangerous, as you have seen. Where do you live? I shall walk you there.”

 

Szpilman hesitated for a moment before deciding to give him the address. And true to his word the Captain, after receiving the address, began to walk with Szpilman to his house.

 

Szpilman felt a sense of dread wash over him, knowing that this night could only end one of two ways. One, the Nazi captain could kill him. Two, he could give the man what he wanted and maybe walk away alive. But the thought of sexually pleasing this man made Szpilman’s stomach churn in unpleasant ways. Not to mention that he wasn’t very skilled in such things. What if he did something wrong or not to the Captain’s likings, then what? Would he kill him for that? Szpilman’s mouth formed into a deep frown thinking that the man would probably have his way with him and then kill him afterward anyways.

 

“Tell me Jude,” started the Captain as he took long, determined strides, making it hard for the shorter and malnourished Szpilman to keep up. “What exactly were you doing out this late?”

 

“Um…” Stuttered Szpilman, thinking that there went his dinner. Not that it would matter much now, he was sure that the Captain would kill him. Szpilman prayed that it would, at least, be a swift and painless death. “I was getting something to eat.” The Captain said nothing; he just kept staring and walking forward. Five silent minutes later, the German Captain and Szpilman had arrived at their destination.

 

A cold sweat broke out across Szpilman’s body as he looked up at his empty house. Would the Captain want them to go inside? Would he want to take him on the bed? Floor? How did this even work?

 

_Oh God!_ Szpilman cried in his mind. His heart leapt up to his throat and he tried to forcibly swallow it back down.

 

“Well, um…” Said Szpilman, deciding to get this over with already. “This is it. So, ah…”

 

“Good night,” the German Captain abruptly said as he smiled warmly at Szpilman.

 

Szpilman stared back at the Captain, mouth slightly agape and confused. This had to be some kind of trick. The minute that he turned his back to the Captain he would probably get a bullet to the head or a knife in the back.

 

“Thank you,” stuttered Szpilman, timidly, walking up the steps to his house. Szpilman watched from the corner of his eye as the Captain turned and started walking away before slowing and faltering in his steps before finally stopping and standing were he stood for a moment.

 

“Jude wait!” Yelled the Captain, turning around and running up to Szpilman while digging in his coat pocket.

 

_This is it._ Thought Szpilman tensing up and squeezing his eyes shut.

 

“Here,” the Captain said, shoving something about the size of a matchbook into Szpilman’s hand. Szpilman opened his eyes and looked down at what the Captain had handed to him. It was money! Not much, but a few, folded, small denomination bills, but to Szpilman it was the best gift he had received in years.

 

“What is…?” Began Szpilman but was cut off before he could finish.

 

“It is not much, but it should feed you for a few days,” stated the Captain as he walked back down the steps and onto the side walk. “That should help to keep you from running around at night. Take care of yourself, Jude.”

 

“Wait!” Called Szpilman, “What is your name?”

 

“Hosenfeld. Captain Wilm Hosenfeld.”

 

And it was a name that Szpilman would not soon forget.

 


	2. Chapter Two

A few weeks after his first meeting with Wilm Hosenfeld, Szpilman was able to sneak out of the Warsaw Ghetto and roam from town to town. He spent most of his time living like a tramp and hiding from the Nazis, until he found shelter with an old family friend who took him in and let him hide at his house.

 

Months after Szpilman moved in with his friend, he found himself doing oddball errands for him. Szpilman supposed that it was only fair. The man was risking his life to hide Szpilman, the least he could do was run around picking up and dropping off packages and whatnot. And that is how come he was currently sneaking around, in the dark, ducking under bridges, and clutching a brown package close to his chest.

 

_Okay_ , thought Szpilman, head quickly snapping left and right to see if the coast was clear before dashing across the street and into the safety that was the shadows.  _All I have to do is drop this package off at the back door and then be on my way home._

 

Szpilman felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, but they had been like that ever since he left the house. Still, he supposed, it didn’t hurt to be extra careful, especially when your race was being exterminated like unwelcome rodents.

 

Approaching his destination, Szpilman rushed around to the back of the house and as quickly and as quietly as a soft breeze, placed the package on the back step and disappeared once more into the night.

 

Szpilman was slowly making his way through the scum filled streets of the city as the lights of a bar caught his attention. He would have to avoid that once he got closer. Szpilman picked up his pace, determined to get out of there as fast as possible. The night was getting colder, the wind blowing about him and making him wrap his coat tighter around him in an attempt to stave off the chill.

 

As Szpilman drew closer to the bar he gave it a wide berth, keeping just out of reach of the light that poured from its windows. When the door to the bar suddenly opened and Szpilman was scared that he had been made until a burly, Dutch man threw a drunken German out into the street. “You’ve had enough to drink,” said the Dutchman in broken German. “Come back when sober.”

 

The drunken German stumbled on his feet for a moment before righting himself and then sitting himself down on the sidewalk. The Dutch bartender quickly retreated back into his bar, letting the door slam shut behind him.

 

The drunken man sat quietly on the curb, head in his hands, and looking for all the world like a desolate soul. Something about the man struck Szpilman as familiar, but Szpilman just couldn’t seem to remember where he had seen the man from before. Although, he also didn’t get a good look at the man’s face.

 

Something about the man was so alluring that Szpilman couldn’t seem to help himself and soon found that his feet were leading him over to the man. Szpilman abruptly stopped once he saw that he had stepped into the glow of the light from the bar.

 

Though intoxicated, the drunk seemed to be aware of his surroundings and snapped up his head at the sound of Szpilman’s boots crunching against the gravel road.

 

“What do you want?” The man asked, speech slurred just a bit from too much alcohol.

 

“Nothing. Sorry I bothered you,” replied Szpilman, slowly backing away from the drunk, heading back into the cover of the dark.

 

“Wait!” Said the drunk, squinting his eyes up at Szpilman. “I know you.”

 

Szpilman froze, thinking that he was done for. But as he stood there, looking down at the drunk he could have sworn that he too recognized him. But it was hard to see the man’s face with the light from the bar behind him casting his back in light but shrouding his face in shadows.

 

Szpilman took a chance. “Captain Hosenfeld?” Szpilman questioned.

 

“Yes,” answered Hosenfeld, “and you are that Jude from Warsaw.” Szpilman could only nod his response as the shock of seeing Hosenfeld again sank in. Szpilman stepped back into the glow of the light and took in Hosenfeld’s appearance. He was not dressed in his usual garb; instead he wore casual pants and a button up shirt. It was odd to see him like that, but Szpilman really had no right to criticize, he had only seen the man once before. The Captain’s hair was messy, there were dark bags under his blood shot eyes, and his all-around appearance was just plain miserable looking, in fact, Hosenfeld seemed to be sending out waves of misery.

 

“Captain?” Szpilman asked as he opted to sit next to Hosenfeld on the curb. “What happened to you?”

 

“She cheated on me,” sobbed Hosenfeld, eyes shining with unshed tears; not the first to be shed, Szpilman was sure. “My wife cheated on me with another man and then took the kids with her to her mother’s.”

 

“Oh. I am truly sorry,” stated Szpilman, honestly.

 

“The worst part is,” said Hosenfeld, tears flowing freely now. “I don’t even know why she cheated on me.”

 

There was nothing Szpilman could say or do. So he just sat there on the street with Hosenfeld, letting the chill of the night numb his senses.

 

“You never…” started Hosenfeld again, wiping the tears from his eyes using the sleeve of his shirt. “You never realize how lonely the night is until you spent some time alone in it. And I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.”

 

Szpilman hummed in thought and continued to sit next to Hosenfeld, feeling he owed at least this much to the man who had saved his life. He would offer what little comfort he could the only way he knew how.

 

The evening fog rolled in around them and the biting chill of the night air nipped at Szpilman’s ears and nose, turning them a rosy color. Szpilman was about to turn to Hosenfeld and suggest that they head home for the evening when he suddenly found himself trapped under the dead weight of the drunk and now unconscious body of Captain Hosenfeld.

 

Completely caught off-guard, Szpilman’s first reaction was to reach out and catch Hosenfeld before he did a face-plant into the ground. So, Szpilman quickly wrapped his arms firmly around the Captain and held him upright.

 

Szpilman mumbled a short curse to himself when Hosenfeld’s head rolled back and placed itself right on Szpilman’s shoulder, making Szpilman feel slightly uncomfortable.

 

Szpilman let out a puff of air as he pulled Hosenfeld closer to him and muttered, “My. Captain.”  _You could not have picked a worst time to fall asleep._

 

Just then Hosenfeld awoke. “What did you say?” Asked a sleepy and drunk Hosenfeld as he lifted his head off Szpilman’s shoulder.

 

“Captain?” Questioned Szpilman, confused.

 

“No that’s not what you said,” slurred Hosenfeld, now nuzzling his nose into Szpilman’s neck.

 

_He’s an affectionate drunk._

 

Szpilman’s eyes widened at the realization of what Hosenfeld was talking about. “My Captain?” He asked meekly. Feeling that he had just got into trouble for accidentally calling Hosenfeld  _his._ Szpilman hoped his stupidity hadn’t just warranted him a bloody and broken nose.

 

“Yeah that,” breathed Hosenfeld, breath hot as it ghosted over Szpilman’s neck. Szpilman felt a blush crawling up his neck as he tried to tell himself that these were just the actions of a drunken and lonely man. That he should get him home and in bed and that in the morning he would be back to his senses.

 

Hosenfeld was so close that Szpilman could smell the booze wafting off his breath. And it was strong. Very strong. Szpilman knew that a drunken man was a dangerous man, so he braced himself for anything Hosenfeld threw at him. Anything except what he asked next, that was.

 

“Say it again,” requested Hosenfeld resting his head back on Szpilman’s shoulder, his deep breaths tickling the hairs on Szpilman’s neck.

 

“What?” Asked Szpilman, weakly.

 

“You heard me.”

 

“My Captain?”

 

“Yes.” Hosenfeld had closed his eyes and for the first time that night looked peaceful. For a moment Szpilman believed him to be asleep again until Hosenfeld mumbled against his neck again, lips brushing his skin causing goose bumps to rise to the surface. “I’m tired,” he mumbled. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

“Okay,” Szpilman replied. “But, where do we go?”

 

“Anywhere but here.”

 

“I can not drag you home with me,” said Szpilman, lifting Hosenfeld to his feet, letting the man lean almost wholly against him. “Do you live nearby?”

 

“Yes, just a block or so down, but my house is so empty. I do not wish to stay there.”

 

“Come on,” replied Szpilman, wrapping Hosenfeld’s arm around his shoulders and urging him to start walking. “Your house is closer and I will stay the night so that you won’t be alone. Is that alright with you?”

 

“Yes,” murmured Hosenfeld, sleepily, as Szpilman practically dragged his feet along.

 


	3. Chapter Three

The walk to Hosenfeld’s apartment was a difficult one, mainly because Hosenfeld relied so heavily on Szpilman for support, and kept throwing up on the sidewalk, and also because Hosenfeld had misjudged the distance of his apartment to the bar. It was not just a block or so down the road, but four blocks down and three houses in.

 

Finally making it to the front door unnoticed- how they had managed that with them swaying all over the streets, Szpilman would never know -Szpilman asked Hosenfeld for his key.

 

“It’s…” Started Hosenfeld, a confused look coming over his face. “Ah, yes. It’s in one of my pockets.”

 

Szpilman let out a tired sigh. It would seem he had to do everything himself. He propped Hosenfeld up against the door and leaned gently on him to keep him upright as he snaked a hand between their bodies and dug into his front pockets.

 

_Not in the right one,_ thought Szpilman, pulling his hand out from Hosenfeld’s pocket, feeling slightly embarrassed.  _Let’s pray it’s in the left one and not in one of his back pockets._

 

Hosenfeld giggled drunkenly as Szpilman wiggled his hand into his other pocket.

 

_Oh, God._ Thought Szpilman, rolling his eyes at the comical situation.  _Well, at least, he’s feeling better._

 

Szpilman finally found the keys, and after a few minutes of wrestling them out of Hosenfeld’s pants, he was able to unlock the door and lead them both inside. Szpilman carefully placed Hosenfeld on the soft-looking, but hideous green couch before wandering off toward where he believed the kitchen to be.

 

“Just,” panted Szpilman, unlocking the door more of a workout than he’d care to admit. “Just stay there a moment why I get you something to drink, okay?”

 

“Okay,” mumbled Hosenfeld as he flopped back onto his couch, eyes already closed. He vaguely remembered hearing the creak and thump of cabinets being opened and closed while a faucet was turned on.

 

He only realized that Szpilman had returned when he felt a dip in the cushions next to him. Hosenfeld cracked his eyes open and saw that Szpilman was holding out a glass of water to him. “Thank you,” said Hosenfeld reaching out and taking the glass in his own grasp before downing the whole thing in one go.

 

“Would you like some more?” Asked Szpilman as he watched Hosenfeld place the empty glass on one of the mismatched end tables at the end of the couch.

 

“No. I’m good, thank you,” said Hosenfeld shaking his head. He was starting to feel a little less drunk now, having thrown up most of the alcohol in his system already. Szpilman shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what to do.

 

“You must be tired. Is your bedroom upstairs? I’ll help you up,” said Szpilman starting to stand until Hosenfeld reached out and pulled him back down.

 

“I don’t believe that in my condition I’d be able to make it up the stairs,” replied Hosenfeld, smiling weakly at Szpilman as he leaned his head against the back of the couch. Szpilman let out a soft laugh and stood again this time causing Hosenfeld to reach out desperately and cling tightly to the hem of Szpilman’s coat. “Please. Don’t go. Just… Just stay with me. For just a little while longer.”

 

The pleading and hurt look in the young Captain’s eyes had Szpilman’s heart aching for the man. “I was just going to get you a blanket. If you remembered I promised you that I would stay the night if I was welcomed.”

 

Hosenfeld loosened his death grip on Szpilman’s coat, but still held on. “Of course you are welcome. But I don’t need a blanket. Just stay here with me. Please?”

 

“Okay,” breathed Szpilman taking a seat next to Hosenfeld again. _What should I say? What did one say in a situation like this? I’m sorry your wife cheated on you and then took your kids and left you desolate and heartbroken, but hey there are plenty of other fish in the sea. Yeah, somehow, that doesn’t seem like the right thing to say._

 

Szpilman was at a loss as to what he should say when the feeling of Hosenfeld’s leg pressing against his own shocked him into stillness and caused his mind to sputter and choke on itself. Hosenfeld was moving closer to Szpilman, completely disregarding Szpilman’s personal space.

 

“Tell me Jude. How can I ever repay you for your kindness?” Asked Hosenfeld voice low while his eyes looked almost pitch black in the dark room. Szpilman could feel those eyes piercing through his very being and dissecting him from the inside out.

 

“Y-you don’t have to repay me,” stuttered Szpilman, not liking where this conversation was going. “I am repaying you for the kindness you have already shown me while I lived in the Ghetto. So, really, you don’t have to repay me.” Hosenfeld ignored Szpilman in favor of crawling over the smaller man, a predatory look in his eyes.

 

Szpilman just gaped up at the man that hovered above him. He knew that Hosenfeld was drunk and that if he tried to fight off the man’s advances he would, most likely, lose the fight and be seriously injured. Hosenfeld was a German trained Captain, after all, and what was Szpilman? A weak, scrawny, Jewish pianist that was it. Not only was Hosenfeld stronger than himself, he probably had some sort of special hand to hand combat training while in the military. The only sensible thing to do was to try and talk Hosenfeld out of his drunken resolution.

 

“Captain, listen to me. You’re drunk and if you go through with whatever you’re thinking, you will regret it in the morning,” reasoned Szpilman.

 

“You know,” stated Hosenfeld, carefully placing his hands on either side of Szpilman’s head, trapping him. “You’re quite pretty for a boy. And a Jude.”

 

Hosenfeld’s words caused Szpilman to blush uncontrollably in embarrassment. Why was he acting in such a way to Hosenfeld’s words?

 

_Look at me! I’m acting like a blushing bride on her wedding night! He’s just drunk and come morning he’ll regret his decisions._

 

Szpilman didn’t know why his last thought saddened him or why he was acting like a love sick school girl with a secret crush. 

 

“That’s very kind of you to say, but…” Started Szpilman again, gently pushing on Hosenfeld’s chest to move him off him, but only caused the German Captain to lean down closer to Szpilman till their noses touched.

 

“But what?” Breathed Hosenfeld, warm breath ghosting over Szpilman’s face and causing a shiver- of something that Szpilman was adamantly denying was pleasure -to run down his spine. “You just don’t like me either, huh?”

 

“What!? No!” Szpilman practically screamed once he saw the dejected look that overcame Hosenfeld’s face. “I like you! Just not like that.”

 

“How do you know?” Hosenfeld practically begged, his eyes pleading with Szpilman to just give him a chance.

 

Szpilman just looked up into Hosenfeld’s hurt and pleading eyes. How did he know that he wouldn’t like to be with this man? If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t know, but he did know that being in the man’s close proximity was doing weird things to him. Not unpleasant, weird things, mind you. No, quite the opposite actually. And as Szpilman lay there looking up at Hosenfeld’s sad and wounded looking face, he knew that the man, at least, deserved a truthful answer from Szpilman.

 

“I don’t,” conceded Szpilman.

 

Szpilman didn’t remembered how it happened, just that in the next moment Hosenfeld’s lips were lightly brushing against his own and at some point his eyes had slid closed. And when Hosenfeld pulled away from Szpilman, without giving Szpilman so much as a light peck on the lips, Szpilman opened his eyes and saw that Hosenfeld was watching him quite contently.

 

“Something has just occurred to me,” explained Hosenfeld. “I don’t even know your name.”

 

“Szpilman. My name is Wladyslaw Szpilman.”

 

“Wladyslaw Szpilman,” repeated Hosenfeld as he leaned down and, this time, captured Szpilman’s lips with his own. Never in Szpilman’s life had he ever felt something as right as Hosenfeld’s lips being pressed against his own.

 

Hosenfeld’s lips were warm and his hands cold as they roamed all over Szpilman’s body causing pleasurable sparks of electricity to run rampant across his body. The kiss started off as a slow and gentle one, but soon became a fast and frantic one. Teeth and tongues battle for dominance, and even though Hosenfeld was drunk he was still able to hold his own.

 

Szpilman’s senses seemed to come alive. He could feel his own body heat quickly start to rise and soon the room became stiflingly hot. He also became acutely aware of every contact his body made with Hosenfeld’s, and it caused a delicious friction that he wished he could get more of.

 

When their tongues first began their battle for dominance, Hosenfeld was pleasantly surprised to find that Szpilman was fighting him for it. He never thought that the lanky, quiet Jew would be such a fierce fighter, but he was and it felt so good.

 

As Hosenfeld broke the kiss and pulled away from Szpilman, sucking in the much needed, life giving air, Hosenfeld looked over Szpilman and took in his appearance. He definitely liked what he saw.

 

Szpilman’s eyes were glazed over and filled with nothing less than pure lust. His clothes were a rumpled mess and his hair was tousled and sticking up at odd angles. But what really held Hosenfeld’s attention was just how aroused Szpilman was.

 

Hosenfeld watched every breath that Szpilman gasped in as he tried to refill his emptied lungs. He watched as the younger man’s chest heaved up and down, desperately wishing he could relieve the man of his shirt and taste all that pale, beautiful skin that was offered to him.

 

Szpilman watched as Hosenfeld’s lust clouded eyes roamed over his body hungrily and shivered in delight at the thought that he was the one making Hosenfeld like that.

 

When Hosenfeld felt Szpilman shiver, something close to primal came over him and he tightly gripped Szpilman’s hair, pulled his head back and exposed Szpilman’s long, vulnerable neck that was just begging to be praised by Hosenfeld’s lips, and Hosenfeld happily obliged.

 

Szpilman felt a sharp pain in the back of his head as Hosenfeld yanked his head back and Szpilman quivered as the intense pain soon turned into intense pleasure.

 

_What is he doing to me?_ Thought Szpilman as he let out a long, guttural groan once he felt Hosenfeld’s tongue lick its way up his neck.  _Even the pain feels good._

 

Hosenfeld found that Szpilman tasted of sweat, sugar, and something that was uniquely Szpilman. And to Hosenfeld, it was strangely intoxicating and addicting.

 

As Hosenfeld’s teeth met Szpilman’s neck, Szpilman let out a noise that sounded something like a cross between a whimper and a moan. Thinking that he may have accidentally hurt Szpilman, Hosenfeld released his hold on the man and pulled away from him.

 

“Did I hurt you?” Whispered Hosenfeld, concern evident in his voice as he stared down at the angry red mark that was forming on Szpilman’s neck.

 

“Not much,” replied Szpilman, sincerely. Hosenfeld smiled and leaned back down to continue were he left off when he was stopped short by a hand in his face. “Wait! Before we go any farther. I have to know that this is what you want, and not just something done in a moment of drunken ignorance.” Hosenfeld stared down, dumbfounded, at Szpilman, letting the younger man’s words sink in.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay, what?”

 

“Okay, this is not something that I’m doing on a drunken whim, but it’s not something I planned for either. However, I would like to take this farther. But only if you want to also.”

 

There was a moment of long silence as both men mulled over what had just been said and what they both wanted to do next. And the first one to break the silence was Szpilman, his voice shaky and a little over a whisper. He kept his eyes averted from Hosenfeld and Hosenfeld thought the pink tinge that was slowly starting to take over his face was extremely cute. “I’ve never been with a man before,” admitted Szpilman.

 

“Hey,” whispered Hosenfeld, cupping Szpilman’s chin and forcing Szpilman to look at him. “That’s okay. I’ve never been with a man before either. We’ll just take it slow, okay?” Hosenfeld’s soft and sincere smile was almost blinding and it made Szpilman’s heart flutter uncontrollably. “My bedroom’s up stairs.”

 

It took a moment for Szpilman’s lust-ridden, emotion filled brain to catch up before he realized what Hosenfeld was asking. Was he really ready for that? Szpilman didn’t know, but what he did know was that Hosenfeld wouldn’t hurt him.

 

Szpilman had to laugh at himself. He was putting a lot of trust in a man he barely knew. But there was something in Hosenfeld’s eyes that spoke only truths and honesty. And some part of him, deep inside, really wanted to just give himself to Hosenfeld.

 

So, Szpilman smiled up at Hosenfeld and allowed himself to be guided into Hosenfeld’s bedroom, stumbling up the stairs as they went. 

 


	4. Chapter Four

Hosenfeld opened the door to his pitch black bedroom and, without giving Szpilman a chance to change his mind, pushed Szpilman back until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed and he went tumbling over.

 

Hosenfeld, clumsily, stripped out of his boots and shirt, almost falling over a few times in the process. Szpilman laughed as he watched the darkened blob of Hosenfeld stumble about the room as he tried to rid himself of his clothes. The tension and worry from only moments ago was replaced by an easy comfort.

 

After Hosenfeld finally rid himself of most of his clothes, he crawled unto his bed and over Szpilman once again, looking down and trying to see the young Jew’s face. Unfortunately, with no light source in the room Szpilman just looked like a darker blob that lay against a slightly lighter, dark blob. No worries, though, even if Hosenfeld couldn’t see Szpilman he could still feel him.

 

Hosenfeld gently ran his fingers down the side of Szpilman’s face, drawing out a shiver from the younger man, and sketched the edge of his jaw line all the way down to his throat. He continued his journey down Szpilman’s throat, bypassing his collar bone, and stopping only once he was met with the collar of Szpilman’s shirt.

 

He felt the rise and fall of Szpilman’s chest as his breathing became faster and shorter, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and the rise of goose bumps across the surface of his skin as his knuckles brushed against the skin under his shirt. Hosenfeld gently pulled at the buttons on Szpilman’s shirt until, one by one, they all came open and he felt the fabric fall apart and reveal to him smooth, warm skin.

 

Hosenfeld felt Szpilman squirm under him and he leaned down and placed warm, butterfly kisses all the way down Szpilman’s chest to his navel. When he reached the hem of Szpilman’s pants he made short work of those and he couldn’t suppress a smile as he noticed the bulge in his underwear.

 

“I…” Choked Szpilman as Hosenfeld rid him of his underwear and moved back up his body to lay a reassuring kiss on Szpilman’s lips, efficiently stopping any protests Szpilman had.

 

Hosenfeld tenderly nibbled on Szpilman’s bottom lip until he opened his mouth to him. Tasting Szpilman, Hosenfeld heard him let out a long moan and slowly arch his back off the bed until his groan was grinding into Hosenfeld’s own growing need.

 

Szpilman broke the kiss, pulling away from Hosenfeld long enough to tug at the German’s pants, and panting out that he wished for them both to be nude for this. Hosenfeld happily obliged.

 

As Hosenfeld stripped out of his pants, the panic in Szpilman began to rise. What was he supposed to do now? He had never been with another man before. He wasn’t sure he could pleasure another man. He knew what he liked, but different people had different desires and such.

 

There was, of course, that one thing that Szpilman had heard about. But he wasn’t sure he could do that. He was nervous, but he did want to make Hosenfeld feel as good as he did, though.

 

Hosenfeld was finally able to get himself out of the steel trap that was his pants and crawl back on top of Szpilman. But before he knew what had happened Szpilman had flipped them and now had Hosenfeld on his back with Szpilman straddling his legs.

 

Hosenfeld was shocked and confused at first, but as the situation sank in he found himself becoming even more aroused.

 

_Being pinned to the bed by Szpilman is, actually, kind of… Sexy,_ thought Hosenfeld, feeling Szpilman’s long and bony fingers dig into his hips.  _Strike that. Really sexy._

 

Szpilman swallowed his nervousness as he moved himself lower down Hosenfeld’s legs. He remembered what his friend had once told him about this and about how to do it correctly. His friend told him that it was good to know, just in case he was caught by some Nazis that wanted him to do them some  _favors._

 

Szpilman took a deep breath and not allowing himself time to chicken out lowered his head and swallowed Hosenfeld whole.

 

“G-God!” Cried Hosenfeld as his hips bucked up when his cock first made contact with Szpilman’s moist mouth. Szpilman dug his fingers deeper into Hosenfeld’s hip bones and forcibly held him down.

 

Hosenfeld gripped the top of Szpilman’s head as Szpilman’s tongue worked around his dick. Hosenfeld threw his head back in ecstasy as a string of garbled words and moans escaped his mouth. His breathing became harsh and uneven.

 

_Where did he learn to do th-that?_ Thought Hosenfeld, in a moment of clarity.  _God, that feels… Good. Strike that. Great. Fantastic. Mind- f*cking -amazing._

 

Hosenfeld tightened his grip on Szpilman’s head, fingers digging into his scalp in an effort to warn Szpilman that if he kept it up Hosenfeld wasn’t going to last long. Hosenfeld was finally able to pull Szpilman’s head up and force him to stop what he was doing.

 

“Slow down,” panted Hosenfeld, releasing his grip on Szpilman’s head. “Don’t want this to be over too soon.”

 

Szpilman crawled back up Hosenfeld’s body, placing kisses here and there across it. Finally making it back up to Hosenfeld’s mouth, Szpilman deftly captured his lips in an intense kiss. Hosenfeld was sure that after this he was going to have bruises everywhere and he found he really didn’t care, just so long as Szpilman kept doing that thing with his hands. And- Dear Lord -those hands! Talented didn’t even begin to cover it.

 

They soon found, as their hands ran rampant across each other’s bodies, that their release was fast approaching. And as nails clawed at tender flesh and teeth nipped at lips they tried to make every last pleasurable second count before they both went plummeting over the edge.

 

The shadows of the room encased them in a blanket of silence and darkness, swallowing them whole and hiding them away from the outside world. So there was no shame felt or disgust dealt to one another as the evening drew to an end and they each found their pleasure and their release in each other. But will what was felt during the night be the same in the light of day?

 


	5. Chapter Five

The first rays of the morning peeked through the crack in Hosenfeld’s curtains and shone straight into his closed eyes. Feeling the sun’s burning rays even through his closed eyelids, Hosenfeld groaned and turned his head in the opposite direction.

 

His head throbbed in pain, loudly protesting all the alcohol he had consumed the night before, and for some strange reason his chest stung. Figuring that he should probably get up and face the morning, Hosenfeld propped himself up on his elbows and threw the blankets off his chest. He finally realized why his chest stung as he saw that angry, thin red lines ran up and down his torso.

 

“What?” Asked Hosenfeld to himself, tracing a finger down one of the red claw marks. How did that happen and why couldn’t he remember it?

 

Hosenfeld’s vision swam as he sat up in the bed. Groaning, Hosenfeld dug the palm of his hand into his right eye in an attempt to stop the steady throb in his head and the swirling of his vision.

 

Once he stopped seeing double of everything, he looked around his room and that’s when he noticed the two pairs of clothes that were, haphazardly, strewn about the room and the lump that lay next to him under the blankets.

 

_ Oh, God, _ panicked Hosenfeld.  _ What’d I do?  _

 

Hosenfeld, concentrating really hard, thought back to the previous night. He remembered getting kicked out of that bar down the street and then someone helping him home, but who? He remembered strong shoulders, dark hair, and a scent. An earthy scent mixed with a little musk. He also remembered a smooth, flat chest and a very talented mouth.

 

The blood from Hosenfeld’s faced drained when he realized his bedmate was male. Not that he didn’t appreciate the male form, mind you. It was just that the thought of meaningless sex really didn’t sit right with him.

 

Fear and curiosity getting the better of him, Hosenfeld slowly pulled off the blankets from the stranger’s head, but soon recoiled his hand as if he had just touched fire. The man was obviously Jewish, and all sorts of horrible scenarios began to run through Hosenfeld’s mind.

 

_ What did I do? _

 

What had he done? Had he, in his drunken state, forced some helpless Jew into his bed and then forced him to participate in some horrible sexual acts for his pleasure? Hosenfeld felt sick.

 

The stranger next to him groaned and was soon waking up. Hosenfeld sat stock still, eyes wide, and jaw clenched tight in anticipation.

 

Szpilman slowly opened his eyes and cringed at the bright light that was seeping through Hosenfeld’s curtains. His whole body felt sore, mainly from all the bite marks that littered his body. Szpilman lifted himself off his stomach and turned to see that Hosenfeld was already up.

 

“Hey,” greeted Szpilman, voice hoarse as he looked over Hosenfeld, but something seemed wrong. Hosenfeld was too stiff, his jaw too tight, and he seemed to be willing himself further away from Szpilman. And as Szpilman looked into Hosenfeld’s wide and frightened eyes he realized that this Hosenfeld was not the same Hosenfeld he went to bed with last night.

 

_ Of course, _ Szpilman laughed bitterly in his own head.  _ He probably wanted me to leave last night. Can’t have a Jew leaving his house in broad day light. _

 

“I’m sorry,” mumbled Szpilman, turning away from Hosenfeld and climbing out of the bed. Hosenfeld watched as he turned his back to him and exposed all the lean, pale flesh of his back to him.

 

_ Oh, God, _ thought Hosenfeld as images of him running his hands down all that flesh flashed through his mind.

 

“I’ll go out the back door,” continued Szpilman as he went about the room trying to pick up as much of his clothes as he could.

 

Hosenfeld watched the scrawny Jew as he picked up his clothes, eyes purposely looking toward the floor, and looked over every scratch mark and bite mark that covered his body and slowly the memories of last night came back to him.

 

“ _Wait! Before we go any farther. I have to know that this is what you want, and not just something done in a moment of drunken ignorance.”_ Hosenfeld remembered Szpilman saying as he lay under him on the couch.

 

Szpilman picked up his last article of clothes and quickly backed out of the room. Hosenfeld could hear the soft thump of bare feet racing down the stairs.

 

“ _Okay, this is not something that I’m doing on a drunken whim, but it’s not something I planned for either. However, I would like to take this farther. But only if you want to also.”_ He remembered saying those exact words to Szpilman. He remembered guiding him up to his bedroom, into his bed, and making love to him even though he barely knew the man. Who was this Jew that inspired such strong feelings within Hosenfeld? Hosenfeld didn’t know, but what he did know was that if he let Szpilman leave now he’d never be able to find the man again.

 

Throwing the covers off of himself, Hosenfeld reached for his pants and boots and raced out his bedroom door. “Szpilman!” Hosenfeld yelled as he raced down the hallway and put on his pants at the same time. “Szpilman wait!”

 

Hosenfeld reached the stairs, pants on and boots in hand. Almost tripping down the stairs a few times, Hosenfeld raced down the stairs and saw that Szpilman had on his clothes and was already at the back door, hand on the knob and ready to leave.

 

“Wladyslaw wait! Please!” Begged Hosenfeld, dropping his boots and running over to the man. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to react that way.” Szpilman looked like a frightened rabbit about to run for his life as his hand never left the door knob. “I didn’t remember how you had gotten here. I remember now, but I didn’t when I first woke up. I thought that I had forced you to do… Unfavorable things with me. I forgot you came here because you wanted to. I wasn’t disgusted with you. I was disgusted with myself.”

 

Hosenfeld poured out his soul as Szpilman just stood there staring at him. And at the end of his explanation, Hosenfeld was happy to see Szpilman’s hand fall away from the door knob. “And you remember now?” Szpilman asked weakly, taking a step toward Hosenfeld.

 

Hosenfeld let out a relieved sigh and smiled as Szpilman drew closer to him. “Yeah, I remember now.”

 

“Everything?” Asked Szpilman looking up, hopefully, at Hosenfeld.

 

“Well,” began Hosenfeld as he stalked up to Szpilman and wrapped his arms around the smaller man, “maybe not everything. Perhaps you can refresh my memory?”

 

A coy smile spread across Hosenfeld’s face and Szpilman felt a warm smile tugging at his own lips. Perhaps he could help refresh the good Captain’s memory.

 

The End

Das Ende

Owari

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please consider taking the time to leave me some feedback. I rely on my readers to find out what people like to read and don't.
> 
> Grammar mistakes are possible. I wasn't very good at English. So if you spot any, let me know and I'll try to fix them. Thank you!


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